Almost Normal
by Kopy.Kunoichi
Summary: Life in the bunker has been anything but normal for Lucy of late. Just when she's wondering if the shattered pieces of her life can ever be put back together, an early morning breakfast with a certain Croatian gives her just the sense of normalcy she's been needing, if only for a few moments. Could this unlikely friendship become something else entirely?
1. Omelet Surprise

Awareness crept into Lucy's senses slowly but steadily. The metallic scent of the bunker walls stung her nose as she drew her first wakeful breath. Besides the dull thrum of fans circulating stale air, all was still and silent. Jiya slept noiselessly on the other side of their shared room. Lucy's muscles protested as she stretched her legs out, her toes cracking softly as she flexed them. She turned her head and glanced at the clock – 5:13AM – no wonder everything was quiet. No use lying in bed; she was never one to be able to fall back asleep once awake. Stifling a groan, she quietly swung her legs out of bed and threw her robe on over her pajamas. She grabbed her little shower basket and padded out into the hall on bare feet.

The one perk to being the first one up in the morning was that she was guaranteed a hot shower. The old water tanks never seemed to generate enough heat to last more than four showers in the morning. She wondered if Flynn _ever_ enjoyed a warm rinse, since he was usually the last one up. It was too early in the morning to think about Flynn though – especially thoughts involving him bathing. Just two nights ago, she had spent the entire evening in his room, spilling her guts over a bottle of vodka. She knew most of what was said was innocent, but she still felt mildly embarrassed that Wyatt had caught her emerging from Flynn's room in the morning, despite her assurances to him that nothing happened.

She shook her head to clear it as she placed a chair in front of the bathroom door to indicate its occupancy, and began peeling off her clothes. Once under the hot stream of water, she turned and began kneading the muscles at the base of her neck. So much had happened these past few weeks...Flynn joining the team, her mother trying to make her choose between Rittenhouse and being hanged as a witch, Jessica coming back from the dead – and Wyatt choosing her without hesitation. It was simply too much at once. Her emotions were all over the map. She was heartbroken, stressed, and needy. She could only snatch a couple hours of deep sleep each night. She hated bring like this.

Wyatt was in his own little world with Jessica, and she was trying to give them as much space as she could. The same could be said of Rufus and Jiya. Though they paid her more attention than Wyatt, they too coveted their alone time. Not that she blamed them – any of them. The bunker was a tight space for their growing team, and she couldn't begrudge the two couples private time in between the missions that so often separated them. Denise took as much time as she dared to be with her family, and was often too steeped in work at the bunker to be much company. Lucy knew she could talk to the older woman if she needed to, but she hesitated to add more burdens to her shoulders. Connor was pretty much having a midlife crisis, so she also avoided him.

That left Flynn. Lucy sighed as she drew her razor up the curve of her calf. Flynn. Her thoughts kept turning to him more and more often lately. The enigmatic time traveler – once their enemy – had sauntered into their lives as if he had always belonged there. Well, that wasn't strictly true. He was aloof with most of the other members of the team, though he did seem to be making efforts to win their trust. But with her...with her, he made himself right at home. She had become somewhat accustomed to his snarky behavior as they had chased him across history, though it was usually tempered by the circumstances of the moment. She had seen him angry, broken, arrogant, and almost hopeful as he struggling to keep his humanity. She had assumed that his sarcastic quips had been there to hide his pain – but now she was beginning to think it was his natural tendencies peeking through all along.

Since joining them, Flynn had grown quite free with his verbal input, and Lucy found herself struggling not to laugh out loud at some of the outlandish things he said. He had always been rather mysterious, but after getting to know him better (especially two nights ago when his tongue was hinged even more loosely from alcohol), she found him to be deeply relatable. He was still full of contradictions, though. Funny, but unhappy. Sharp tongued, but gentlemanly. Bold, but self-isolating. Aggressive, but compassionate. Hard, but gentle. He had a glare that could turn an enemy's bowels to water, and a smile that could make her spine tingle. His gravelly voice, with its wonderfully foreign accent, could hold her rooted to the spot in the most irresistible way. Green eyes held secrets that she wanted desperately to drag from him, but some things were best not knowing – and certain ones he held close.

…Such as his feelings for her. Sometimes, she thought she could read exactly what was written in the expressions he cast her way. But a part of her balked at the idea that she was simply seeing what she wanted to see. That was an even scarier thought. Did she really see adoration in his eyes, or was she so desperate for affection that she only thought she saw it? At the end of the day though, it was his presence alone that was enough to hold her fragile self together. He listened to her without demanding more. He didn't try to fix her problems or offer advice. Sometimes he shared his own similar thoughts and struggles. But most of all, he was simply available to her. He was there to lean against, a rock to stand on when everything else around her felt like quicksand. He was solid, but oh so gentle.

Lucy turned off the water and dried herself, slipping back into her pajamas for the time being. She could get dressed for the day later – right now she just wanted the comfort of a soft t-shirt and cotton bottoms. She twisted her hair up into her towel and walked to the galley. After finding the contents of the fridge to be satisfactorily stocked, she decided to put some effort into breakfast this morning and make an omelet. Milk, eggs, pepper, onion, ham, cheese, spinach, and a variety of spices found their way onto the countertop as she gathered the utensils she would need to prepare her masterpiece. Selecting the sharpest knife she could find, she started with the pepper. The rhythmic motion of the blade slicing through the vegetable's skin gave her an odd sense of calm and purpose, and she found herself humming a tuneless song. Pushing thoughts of anything stressful out of her mind, she lost herself in her task. Peaceful. This was peaceful.

"You're up early," that familiar, deep voice said, shattering her solitude.

She jumped so hard, she nearly stabbed herself, snapping her head over her shoulder. How the hell did he manage to get directly behind her without her noticing? Her sudden movement dislodged the heavy towel from her head, but with speed belying his size, Flynn caught it before it hit the ground.

"Sorry," he apologized with a roguish smile that suggested anything but remorse. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Disarmed once again and not really caring, she smirked back at him, "Yes, you did. You delight in sneaking up on people."

He gave teeth to his smile and shrugged, "Maybe a little."

She turned back to her pepper and resumed her leisurely carving. He stood silently behind her for a moment, and she could swear she almost sensed hesitation in the short breath of air he drew in through his nose. She stilled when the coarseness of the towel once more impressed itself on the ends of her hair. Was he…? He was. He was towel drying her hair.

"What's all this?" he asked, nonchalantly, though she detected the slightest strain in the voice near her ear.

"An omelet – or at least, it will be," she replied, determined not to overreact to what was simply yet another inscrutable behavior from Garcia Flynn.

"What kind of omelet?"

His hands guided the towel up from the ends of her hair to the base of her neck, his fingers causing her skin to tingle and he slowly worked his way up the back of her head to her scalp.

"I don't know – an omelet made out of all the things I thought might be good?"

He began massaging her head, his pinky fingers rubbing the tension from her temples as his thumbs dug in through the towel.

"It needs more meat."

She was dimly aware that she had stopped cutting as her head fell back to rest on his collarbone. His fingers moved closer to the front of her hairline, and she pulled a deep breath in over her suddenly dry tongue. Was there anything in this world more satisfying than a good head massage?

"More meat?" she asked, sounding dumb in her own ears. Why were they talking about meat, again?

The towel suddenly absented itself from her head, but the fingers returned almost immediately to resume their work.

"Mmhmm," he rumbled, his voice reverberating through his chest as she leaned a little deeper into him. "The ham is a good choice, but I know for a fact that there is a pound of country sausage in the back of the freezer."

"But we would have to thaw it," she amazed herself that she was engaged enough in the conversation to offer an intelligent reply.

He chuckled, the simple sound somehow increasing the pleasure of the moment exponentially.

"You are aware that the microwave has the ability to thaw frozen meat in a matter of minutes, are you not?"

How did he manage to keep his tone so conversational while she was struggling to breathe properly?

His forearms dropped to her shoulders as he moved his hands to the front of her face. His thumbs rested on her cheekbones as his fingers gripped her from her temples to the bridge of her nose.

"I am aware," she managed to mumble in reply.

"So, by time you finish cutting the vegetables, I can have the meat ready to be browned for our breakfast."

" _Our_ breakfast?" she asked.

"Come now, Lucy. There's plenty here for two. Besides, don't you feel inclined to share with me after this?" he punctuated his sentence by drawing his fingers from her hairline to the back of her head until his hands reached his chest.

"Hmm," she made the pretense of deliberating. "I suppose that could earn you a small reward…but only if you are going to help."

He slid to her right to open the freezer door, "Don't I always?"

Instantly missing the warmth at her back, she smiled without looking at him, "I suppose you do."

As Flynn located the sausage and began to thaw it, Lucy finished her work with the pepper and moved on to the onion. It was yellow and fresh, and before she had even finished peeling its skin, her nose was tingling. As her knife made its first cut, her eyes began to well. Good grief, this was a potent onion. She finished her vertical slices and wiped at her eyes with her arm. Somehow, the gesture made it even worse, and she was half blinded by tears before she could make her cross cuts. Flynn leaned into the periphery of her blurred vision, resting an elbow on the counter and propping his chin up with his hand.

"What? Do you find something amusing?" she asked.

"I find nothing amusing in a woman's tears," he said gravely.

"It's just because of the damn onion," and it was. "Seriously Flynn, I'm not crying for real. I'm just very sensitive to fresh onions," she said, sniffing her runny nose.

He reached across her and arrested the knife from her grip, sliding in to nudge her out of the way with his shoulder and hip.

"Melt some butter in the skillet and put in the peppers. They will take longer to soften than the onion."

He was right of course, so she complied without argument. Did he really think she had actually been crying? And where did this domestic, "I give free head massages and slice vegetables better than Emeril" Flynn come from? He was in rare form this morning, that was all there was to it. She refused to ponder it any further, choosing to accept it as just another facet of his personality being illuminated for her.

Once the peppers were beginning to soften, Flynn added the onions, instantly permeating the space with their delicious aroma. The ham was chopped and the sausage was browned alongside the spinach. They drained the extra fat and scraped the skillet's contents into a bowl where the eggs, milk, cheese, and spices were added. This was poured back into the greased skillet and cooked to perfection. Flynn was right, it was enough for two large omelets each, and the smell was so mouthwatering that _both_ their stomachs were growling by the time breakfast was made. Lucy was given the first omelet, but she waited to consume it until Flynn had finished cooking his. Together with their scrumptious meal and two cups of coffee, they sat at one of the small tables in the galley. Not the uncomfortable chairs (which were too small for Flynn), nor the generally dismal atmosphere of the bunker with its flickering florescent lights, could put a damper on the quality of that breakfast.

Seated across from her, Flynn stretched his long legs out beneath the table and propped a foot on the edge of her chair. They talked about everything and nothing, and laughed at silly things. It was the first time she could remember laughing – really laughing – in weeks. She felt almost at home. There was a singular sense of normalcy that crowded out all the other emotions she had been struggling with recently. It felt so good to just be here. And if she was being honest, it wasn't the food or the routineness of it – it was him.

"I'm glad you woke up early this morning," she ventured, peering at him from behind the lip of her mug.

"Oh? Why's that?" he was trying to be casual, but she could see her remark pleased him by the tug at the corner of his mouth.

"You make all this seem – normal. It's just another breakfast, on just another morning, and neither of us have to be to work any time soon."

"I have had few enough of those kinds of days in my life," he admitted, though his tone did not sound melancholy. "Sharing this one with you has been…good," he finished, glancing up at her from beneath thick lashes.

She cocked her head to the side slightly, "Thanks, Flynn."

He smiled and nodded before draining the last of his coffee, "So what's for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Hmm…pancakes?" she suggested.

He chewed his lower lip in thought before leaning in with a conspiratorial smirk, "How about crepes?"


	2. We've Got to Stop Meeting Like This

Garcia paused in the midst of toweling off the damp locks clinging to his forehead. Memories rose unbidden of when he had been similarly occupied drying Lucy's hair last week. He could almost smell the floral scent of her shampoo lingering in the air between them - feel the silky texture of her hair beneath his fingertips. She had tipped her head back against him and taken a deep breath. Her voice had sounded almost intoxicated when she tried to continue the conversation.

" _What on earth possessed me?"_ he thought.

She had just looked so damn cute standing there barefoot, dressed only in pajamas and her little robe. With everyone else still asleep, he could almost pretend it was just the two of them there that morning, enjoying a good breakfast together…a precious, simple, domestic moment in time. Since that day, when he had woken up early from a restless sleep, he had made an effort to go to bed sooner in order to enjoy breakfast with her more often. His efforts had been met with varying degrees of success.

Rufus and Jiya had gotten up the following morning, and the four of them had sat down to crepes together. It had actually been rather nice with them there. Besides Lucy, Rufus and Jiya had warmed up to him the most. Conversing with them had been easy, and he enjoyed watching the way the other couple treated each other. The youth and innocence of their relationship was pure and sweet. They seemed to have mastered the art of compromise. Garcia found himself genuinely beginning to like the two tech nerds.

The morning after that, Lucy and Jiya had been up together before he even got to the galley. When Jiya noticed him enter the room, her speech faltered a bit and then picked back up. Lucy had noticeably blushed and looked uncomfortable. He surmised he had been the topic of conversation, but their behavior left him puzzled as to the content. For her part, Lucy hadn't treated him any differently that day, so he did not concern himself with it further.

The next morning, however, had been an awkward affair. He had encountered Lucy in the hall heading toward the common room, and they had entered the galley together, only to find Wyatt and Jessica already occupying the room. Wyatt's irritation at seeing them together was palpable, and Garcia was torn between reflecting his attitude and rubbing it in the other man's face. But after one look at Lucy's discomfort, he decided on a different course. Instead, he schooled his features and remained relaxed. A bowl of cereal sufficed for both of them – and neither lingered long over it. Jessica had made a couple attempts to engage them in conversation, to which Lucy had politely responded. He had been quiet but for a few short contributions to the topic, barely trusting himself not to make a snide comment. Wyatt had maintained complete silence, but his expression spoke volumes. He had all but ignored Lucy, and whatever eye contact he made was focused on Garcia. Jessica seemed to find all of it somewhat amusing. Lucy had been rather introverted for the remainder of the day, but the evening had been salvaged when Rufus and Jiya invited them to watch the first Lord of the Rings movie. He had shared his bowl of popcorn with her, and she had fallen asleep on his shoulder before the fellowship even made it to Moria. That night, he had carried a still sleeping Lucy back to her room, with Rufus and Jiya trailing behind him. Jiya had given him a knowing look as he left their room, and he wondered again what exactly she and Lucy had spoken about.

The weekend came and went without incident, and Garcia was growing restless for Rittenhouse to make a move. He enjoyed the downtime with Lucy and being able to catch up on some more reading, but his fingers were itching for the feel of a pistol and the opportunity to rid the world of some scumbags. He heaved a sigh as he drew on the cotton pants he wore to sleep in and reached for an undershirt. Knuckles wrapping on his door gave him pause.

Determining it had to be Lucy, he called, "It's open."

She opened the door and was mostly through it before her eyes landed on his still bare chest. Flushing the most lovely shade of pink, she stopped short.

"Oh, um, I'm sorry – I didn't realize you were…" she trailed off, realizing she had yet to look at his face since she had walked into the room, and deliberately raised her gaze. "I can come back some other time."

"Lucy," he said patiently. "It's fine."

He unfolded the undershirt he had taken and pulled it on over his head, "What do you need?"

"Nothing. I mean, I didn't really have a specific reason to come here. But you look like you're getting ready for bed, so I can leave…" she trailed off, her head cocked to the side.

Garcia crossed the span of his room to stand in front of her, only then catching the sound that had interrupted her. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

" _Seriously?_ " he thought. _"Wyatt and Jessica are at it…again?! These two are like a couple of rabbits."_

He reached over her shoulder and nudged the door closed behind her, turning his body to invite her wordlessly into the room. As she stepped past him, Jessica's laughter managed to conduct through the solid walls of the bunker. He walked over to the shelf behind his bed and fiddled with a radio. Tuning in to an oldies station that offered selections from the 50's through the 70's, Jerry Lee Lewis' voice filled his room to the sound of _Breathless_ – how appropriate.

"Better?" he asked.

Too worn out to pretend she didn't know what he was talking about, she closed her eyes and nodded. She stood there in the center of his room for a moment, swaying a bit to the music as though she were trying to lose herself in the lyrics. She wore black leggings and a long gray sweater, her ever present locket drawing his eyes down her body toward her toes. Tall fuzzy socks were gathered half way up her calves. She looked cozy. The sound of her humming to the song brought his attention back to her face. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, an appreciative expression in her eyes. Crossing over to his bed, she climbed up and inspected the radio.

"Where did you find this antique?"

"Hiding out in a supply closet. You'd be amazed what you can find around this place if you explore enough."

She looked up at him and raised her eyebrows, "I didn't know there was more to this place besides what we've been occupying."

He grinned and lowered his head closer to hers, "Ah, so you haven't discovered the basement yet?"

"There's a basement?!"

"Mmhmm. There's not much to see, mostly unusable junk. But I did find a few useful odds and ends."

"Will you show me tomorrow?"

There was a childlike excitement in her expression that made him feel like he held the keys to something precious.

"Sure," he chuckled.

She scooted down to the middle of his bed and leaned her back against the vertical metal frame, dangling her feet over the edge. The station was now playing _Escape_ and her feet were bouncing to the rhythm, as she began humming again.

When it came to the chorus, she opened her mouth and sang, "If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain…If you´re not into yoga, if you have half a brain…If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape…I´m the love that you´ve looked for, write to me, and escape."

She eyes were closed again, as she tipped her head from side to side in time with the music. Her fingers drummed a beat on his comforter, and her mouth was smiling around the words. He leaned an elbow on the desk and drank in the sight of her, delighting in the sound of her voice. There was something about this small woman sitting on his bed singing her heart out to old songs that just felt…right. She belonged here. He wanted her to belong here, with him.

" _Like Jessica and Wyatt belong to each other at this moment?"_ he asked himself.

He wasn't ready to directly respond to that question just yet, but the answer was as obvious as the blood rushing in his ears. It seemed like only a few moments later and the song was over. She opened her eyes and giggled a little when she caught him smirking at her.

"What? It's a good song."

"It is. I had no idea you sang so well," he said, pushing off the desk and joining her on the bed.

"Well, I haven't really sung anything since…" her voice trailed off and a shadow briefly passed over her face before she replaced it with another smile that lacked its previous radiance. "It's been a while."

He sat next to her, keeping about a foot of bed between them, partly so she wouldn't feel crowded and partly so she wouldn't have to crane her neck to look at him.

"Since when?" he ventured.

She sighed, looking down at her fingers and began fiddling with a perfectly trimmed cuticle.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried," he apologized, genuinely wishing he hadn't pushed her.

"No, it's okay. It was in Hollywood, 1941…told you it had been a while."

He sniffed in amusement, and looked down at her, curious if she would continue.

"Rittenhouse had a sleeper agent who tried to steal the only copy of _Citizen Kane_. We actually teamed up with Hedy Lamarr to get it back," she said, a genuine smile lifting her mouth.

"Hedy Lamarr, the inventor of WiFi, Hedy Lamarr? Wow, I might actually be a little jealous."

"She was incredible. We got to stay the night with her and George at her place. It was…" she trailed off again; then drew in a shaky breath. "It was nice. And we got the sleeper and saved the film. Wyatt and I were posing as a singing/acting duet. Someone asked me to sing at a party, so I did. And that was the last time I sang."

Garcia could fill in the blanks easily enough. He debated whether or not to push her to say more.

"It sounds like that trip holds both happy and painful memories for you," he said softly.

She swallowed audibly, "Yeah well, Wyatt and I…we…"

He reached down and put his hand over hers where it was fisted in his blankets, "You don't have to say anything more if you don't want to."

She exhaled and dropped her head back against the frame, keeping her eyes fixed on the ceiling. But her hand had grown still beneath his, and she made no effort to draw it away.

"He said that maybe it was time to look at other possibilities. He had spent so much time blaming himself for Jessica, missing her, and then he was given the hope of getting her back. He even stole the time machine to try and save her – I guess you knew that. You gave him the name of the guy. Except, even though Wyatt made sure that he was never born, Jessica still died."

"I didn't lie to him," he heard himself say, wondering at the need to defend himself. "His blood was found at the scene. I was sure it had to be him. I guess he must have been there with someone else. I wouldn't have lied about that."

"I know. I know you wouldn't. Well anyway, it doesn't matter anymore. Jessica is back now."

"But he said he was ready to move on; I'm assuming he meant with you?"

"He was ready to accept that she was never coming back and explore the possibility that he could love again. So that was our first – our only – time together. And then we came home and he got the text from Jess. And that was it," she said, her voice tight with emotion.

"I'm sorry, Lucy. You deserve…better than how you've been treated."

She drew in a slow breath, "He always loved her; I can't begrudge him this. It's a miracle, a second chance. I am truly happy for them. Yeah, it still hurts like hell, but I am glad that she is alive."

Garcia resisted the temptation to point out that Wyatt was still trying to control her as though he had a claim on her. But she knew that and it was her place to deal with it, not his. Just as Wyatt had no right to tell her what to do, neither did he. But Wyatt seemed to be unable to see that his jealous behavior had been making this so much harder on her – and he had made no efforts to apologize as far as Garcia knew.

" _What does that say about you then?"_ he reminded himself.

"Yeah, I guess I'm not one to talk about Wyatt's behavior when my own has been so abominable toward you."

She turned her head to look up at him, "What are you talking about? Two nights ago, I passed out on you during a movie and you carried me back to bed. How is _that_ treating me poorly?"

"I'm not talking about since I've been here – I mean before all this," he said, sighing. "I threatened you, I stranded you, I kidnapped you…God, when I shot Lincoln, I-" he reached his hand up and swept his hair back, clenching it at the roots.

"Flynn, stop." She reached up and gripped his wrist, pulling his hand down away from his face, "We were on different sides. The team and I were fighting for Rittenhouse, even if we didn't know it. You were doing what you thought you had to do to take them down, and we were fighting you every step of the way. I understand why you did those things. It's okay."

"No, Lucy, it's not, in point of fact, 'okay'. I hurt you. I was willing to risk your life to take down Rittenhouse, even when I knew that we were supposed to be a team in the future. I lost sight of what mattered. Or rather, I made Rittenhouse the only thing that mattered, and it wasn't. I'm sorry," he said, turning to look down at her. "Forgive me?"

"I forgive you," she answered solemnly. "But only if you'll forgive me."

He frowned, "For what?"

"For not believing you sooner. For fighting you tooth and nail when I should have been helping you. For…" she swallowed, and he could see a sheen of tears gather in her eyes. "For making you lose the very information that would have brought your wife and daughter back. I _was_ careless – it never even occurred to me that they had followed me. I'm so sorry, Flynn."

The first tear that fell from her eyes broke him, and before he even questioned the impulse, he had wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her towards him. She allowed him to draw her close, leaning into him and resting her cheek on his chest. The tears fell freely now, seeping into the thin fabric of his shirt. He rested his hand on her head and let her cry, knowing that her tears were not just from the guilt of what she thought was her fault, but from the accumulation of hurts she had suffered the past few months. So for a while, he said nothing, offering only an occasional soothing sound to reassure her. Finally, he eased his constricted throat enough to attempt words.

"I don't blame you for any of that, Lucy…for not believing me, for not helping me, especially not for my arrest. I know what I said when I was caught, but I tend to lash out when I'm angry. That's not an excuse for what I said, but you should know I didn't mean it. There is nothing to forgive, but if you want to hear those words anyway, they're yours. I forgive you."

Her breathing became more regular and she sniffed hard once, twice, before slowly pulling away and peering up at him. Her eyes were red rimmed, her nose swollen, and her cheeks were blotchy; but the tentative smile she offered him made her the most beautiful creature in the world in his eyes.

"So…friends?" she asked.

He chuckled, his voice sounding gravelly in his own ears, "Friends. Should we make it Facebook official?"

She laughed out loud, playfully shoving at him with her shoulder. He let the gentle impact knock him sideways and flopped down on the foot of his bed, laughing with her. He lay back with his arms behind his head, one leg bent at the knee and the other dangling off the edge of the bed so she still had room to sit where she was.

"Do you even _have_ a Facebook page?" she asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do – unless it has expired from inactivity. It's been a many years since I posted…well anything."

"I thought you were like an intelligence gathering super spy; like Ethan Hunt or something? Were you even allowed to be on social media?"

"Lorena made me make the account – so she could post messages to me when I was away. You can't tell it's me in the profile picture and no, it's not listed under 'Garcia Flynn'."

Lucy looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before asking, "Do you like being called Flynn, or do you prefer your first name?"

He pondered a moment, "I'm used to being called Flynn – most of the people I worked with called me that. Lorena was probably the last one to call me by my first name, now that I think of it."

"Oh," she said softly.

"I don't dislike my first name, but I prefer it shortened to Gar when used," he offered.

"Gar," she repeated slowly, as if tasting the word.

He decided he definitely liked the way it sounded when she said it, but said "It's okay if you prefer Flynn."

"Actually, I kind of like the way Gar sounds. Maybe when we're in a group or back in time, I'll stick with Flynn so it's not confusing to the others…but, you really wouldn't mind if I called you that?"

"No."

She nodded her head and glanced at the clock, sighing, "I guess I should probably go. It's getting late and you're ready for bed."

She didn't sound overly enthusiastic, even as she stretched her legs out in preparation to jump off the bed. He extended the knee that was up and laid his leg across her lap. She paused, her hand instinctively resting on his shin.

"You don't have to run off right now unless you really want to," he said, carefully keeping even the slightest hint of seduction from his voice. "It is late, but if you're not ready to go, I don't mind you staying here."

"But you look tired," she argued, though her objection lacked fervor.

He smirked at her, "One thing you will come to learn about me is that once I'm asleep, precious little wakes me up until I'm ready. You won't disturb me if you stay."

"Then, you don't mind if I hang out in here just a little longer?"

"Nope. Just do me a favor and shut off the light."

She did as asked, freeing the room of its florescent glow. Flynn reached up behind him and switched on a lamp, which cast a dim, warm light on the room. He switched off the radio, and folded his arms behind his head again. Lucy crawled back up on the bed with him, returning to her previous spot a little over half way down.

"Here," she said, grabbing the pillow next to her and handing it to him. Leaning forward to grip the material of his pants, she pulled his leg back on top of the mattress. "I'll stay for a bit, but I'm not going to let you lie there half off a bed that's already too small."

She sat cross legged so he had just enough space to stretch his legs out in front of her. Even so, the bed was still narrow, and he had to hug the edge to give her enough room to be beside him. It would be easier if he rolled onto his side, but he was enjoying his view too much to bother moving.

"Maybe I should just find another bed and bring it in here so you can crash whenever you need to," he suggested, really only half joking.

She laughed, "Yeah, Wyatt would love that."

He resisted the urge to scowl, but keeping any hint of irritation out of his voice, asked, "Does it really matter what he thinks?"

Lucy sighed, tilting her head to her shoulder to look at him, "Yes and no. He saw me coming out of your room last week, after we…talked that one night."

"And?"

"He was upset because he assumed we were – you know."

Garcia raised an eyebrow, "Not to sound flippant, but who gives a damn? You're a grown woman, Lucy. You can make you own decisions."

"I know that. And I told him that we had only talked. Nothing happened. I think he believed me – not that I really care. Except, I do…"

She gave an exasperated sound and turned away from him, rubbing her face in her hands. Uncrossing her legs, she raised them over his and used her heels to draw his legs to the center of the bed, keeping hers steepled over them. She leaned forward and rested her arms on her knees.

"I'm not sure how to explain this very well. It's not that the idea of us, um…being together like that…is embarrassing. But I just don't want everyone to assume that we're…"

"Sleeping together?" he offered, gently. "You can say it out loud, it's just me."

"It's more awkward talking about this because it _is_ you," she said with a sheepish laugh, hunching forward a little more and avoiding eye contact. "But what I'm trying to say is…it's not that I'm embarrassed _that_ they might think we are sleeping together; I don't want them to make assumptions about _why_ we might be sleeping together. I just don't want Wyatt or anyone else to think that I'm in here using you for rebound sex. Or that I'm one of those kinds of girls that can't stand to be out of a relationship for two minutes, so I'm just running to the only single man in the bunker who is remotely interested in me."

He hadn't thought of it like that before, and was now regretting that he hadn't said anything to Wyatt when he had confronted him about it in the bathroom. He was more than happy to let Wyatt assume that he was sleeping with her, even though he had never suggested anything either way. He was so focused on making Wyatt see that she could make her own decisions, he never really considered her reputation with him or the others. He was about to apologize for his thoughtlessness, when she continued.

"It's not just me either, you know? You've come so far these last few weeks in winning everyone's trust and really becoming a member of the team. Everyone except Wyatt has warmed up to you. But if they thought that I was coming to you just for comfort, and you were taking advantage of that to get some nooky on the side – they'd be pissed. I'm not saying that they _would_ assume that, but they might. I don't want them to think of you that way, especially when it's the farthest thing from the truth. You let me spend the night in your room, on your bed, with a bottle of vodka, and you never once even made an attempt to seduce me…and you could have. But you sat there and just let me spill my guts. I want them to know that's the sort of man you are."

Garcia considered her words. He was surprised that she had actually thought this out to the point of considering _his_ reputation, and yet not so, because that was the kind of person that she was. Even so, what was more surprising was that while she clearly did not want to risk either of their reputations with her friends, she continued to come to him alone and stay far into the evening. Her need for something – companionship, comfort, affection – outweighed the risk.

"Then why are you here?" he put the thought into words.

She smiled ruefully, shifting her gaze to meet his, "I need this more than I care about my reputation…and yours, I guess. Sorry."

He snorted, "Stop apologizing. I really don't care what the rest of them think of me…of us. If you don't want them to make assumptions, just tell them the truth."

"The truth," she repeated. "That would be easier if I knew what the truth was. To be honest, I don't even really know why I choose to be here so late."

"Then just tell them that," he suggested. Raising his voice to parody hers, he added, "'Sometimes I just feel this strange urge to hang out with the handsome genius down the hall who actually listens to me and doesn't relegate me to the worst couch in existence. We aren't even having sex, but I keep going back…I don't know why.' See? It's that simple."

Her laugh had started half way through his speech and just kept building until it filled his whole room with its delightful sound. She was looking at him, and the amused expression on his face seemed to add to her mirth. He didn't think it had been _that_ funny, but he suspected she just needed to laugh and was so long without the experience that it was feeding itself. Finally, her giggles tapered off, and she wiped tears from the corners of her eyes.

"Okay, okay – if anyone asks, that is exactly what I'm going to tell them. I _am_ getting pretty sick of that damn couch."

"So does Rufus spend every night in yours and Jiya's room now?"

"Yeah, for the last two weeks now. I mean, they let me know ahead of time when they need alone time and my bed is still in there available to me. But it's just awkward, you know? I love them both to death, but I do not want to sleep in a bedroom with another couple after we all know they've just had a romp in the sheets. But I guess I'm going to have to get over it, because I cannot sleep another night on that couch."

"So don't."

She didn't reply to that, and leaned back again, her legs stretching out to rest on top of his. The contact was minimal, with the backs of her knees simply lying across his shins, but he enjoyed the fact that she was comfortable enough to do it. It occurred to him that touch had always played its part in their relationship, even when they were fighting on opposite sides. Then, their encounters had often included physical contact – not all of it gentle. Since he had come here, the ways he touched her had changed. He had supported her when she was injured, lifted her down from the lifeboat, pulled her against him to remove her from the line of fire, and just this these past few days he had carried her to her bed and massaged her head. She was at ease with him, trusting him to occupy the same space as her without forcing unwanted attention. It made him smile when he thought of how far they had come in just the span of a month.

"What?" she asked.

Realizing she was asking about the thought behind the smirk plastered to his face, he shrugged, "It's just nice to have a friend again."

She graced him with a sweet smile, "You aren't alone."

"Neither are you," he replied, recalling the conversation they had the last time she had spent the night in his room.

She nodded in agreement, folding her hands in her lap and playing with her fingers, as if she suddenly didn't know what to do with them.

"Will you sing something else for me?" he asked suddenly, feeling to urge to break the somber mood.

She laughed, "Um…sure? What did you have in mind? You want a lullaby to put you to sleep?"

He closed his eyes and made an "Mmm" sound in his throat as he considered.

"How about 'All the Pretty Little Horses'? You are awfully fond of them as I recall."

He flashed a toothy grin, "You remembered."

"Well, you kind of turned into a giant bowl of mush when you were watering the horses that one time. Seriously, your voice changed and everything – it was like you were talking to a baby. I did not know what to make of you at all."

He shrugged, "Animals are easy to love. A horse will gladly offer you all his strength in exchange for a soft word, a gentle touch, and a snack here and there."

"Kind of like you," Lucy said; quirking an eyebrow at him. "Just give you a task, a gun, and a snack here and there, and you're perfectly happy."

He chuckled and closed his eyes again, wishing she could understand that his true motivations were closer to that of the horse – he would do almost anything for nothing more than a soft word and gentle touch from her. Not that he could tell her that right now. He was afraid he was just going to blurt it out one day, even though he knew she wasn't ready to hear it. He was self-aware enough to acknowledge that his feelings for her had passed those of admiration and just friendship quite a while ago, but he knew she wasn't there yet…he wasn't even sure if he truly was either.

The soft sound of her humming broke through his thoughts. She stumbled across a few notes before recalling the correct tune, humming through the full song one time before adding words to the melody.

 _Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_

 _Go to sleep my little baby._

 _When you wake you shall have_

 _All the pretty little horses._

 _Black and bays, dapples, grays,_

 _All the pretty little horses._

 _Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_

 _Go to sleep my little baby._

 _Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_

 _Go to sleep my little baby._

 _When you wake you shall have_

 _All the pretty little horses._

She sang it slowly, reverently, almost as if she was truly singing it to a beloved child. He found himself lost in the sound of her voice, sinking beneath the surface of the notes as they danced across his ears. His worries, frustrations, and impatience to make her understand his feelings felt a million miles away at that moment. She was singing…a lullaby…to him. She was sitting on his bed, her legs stretched out across his, as he was drifting off to her lovely song. He could not have been more content than he was at that moment – well, maybe if she was lying next to him with her head pillowed on his chest – but he wasn't going to be greedy. This was perfect. Like a siren's call, her voice pulled him closer to sleep, and he let it. He was truly tired, both physically and emotionally. He knew she would stay for as long as she needed to. In the morning, she would be gone, but he would still have this moment to cherish.

She finished singing the lyrics, but continued to hum the tune…he didn't remember how many times before he fell asleep.

* * *

She noticed the difference in the rise and fall of his chest when his breathing changed. He had really fallen asleep to her lullaby. Something about that thought stirred a strange sense of – what was it? Pride? That wasn't quite the right word, but there was a part of her that felt privileged that this man was comfortable enough with her to completely let his guard down and allow himself to be at his most vulnerable in her company alone. He trusted her. And this night she freely acknowledged that she trusted him in turn.

She let her thoughts wander as she continued to hum the tune of the lullaby. She had always loved that song, and it was hard to stop once she started. The silence after a lullaby always felt deafening when you were the one singing it. The person who falls asleep never notices, but the one singing it does. She kept humming as she considered the things they had spoken about that night.

So much had happened in such a relatively short amount of time. She had told him pretty much everything about Wyatt. She had actually admitted that she didn't find the idea of having sex with him to be horrifying, she blushed to recall. They had apologized to each other. They had become friends…which truthfully, they already had been. She worked with him, talked with him, watched movies with him, made breakfast with him, and allowed him to touch her in ways that one should never allow a non-friend to touch them. But tonight, they had broken down the last few barriers to a deeper level of friendship.

Or maybe it was something more? She wanted to dismiss that thought as soon as it crossed her mind, but the rational side of her refused to comply. She was still raw from her shattered relationship with Wyatt, but if she was honest with herself, she had always shared a connection to Flynn...Garcia. Gar. The use of his first name was going to take some getting used to. She looked over to his face as he slept, his soft snores droning beneath the melody she was humming.

God, he was so beautiful. There was really no other way to describe him. The peace he found in sleep had smoothed the lines from his brow. His dark lashes cast long shadows on his cheeks, covering the dark circles that sometimes showed when he was stressed. His mouth was soft and a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Prominent cheekbones, a strong chin, sharp nose, defined jawline, and lovely ears completed the symmetrical planes of his face. Thick, dark hair fell across his forehead, and she was compelled to brush her fingers through it, though she denied the impulse.

She didn't dare move her appraisal of his face to the rest of him. She had already gotten a very good look at his bare torso today, and the image was fresh enough to conjure at will without needing a second look. She couldn't believe she had stared at him like that. It wasn't as though a shirtless man was really a big deal, she lived in California - shirtless men were everywhere. Of course, she hadn't been outside the bunker in quite some time and the only shirtless man she had seen recently was Wyatt – and she had seen a whole lot more than just his bare chest.

She pushed those thoughts out of her head before they could cause her pain. The sounds of him making love to his wife – just as he had made love to her a few weeks ago – had been what drove her to seek out Flynn to begin with. He was her refuge from the unwelcome imaginings of what was going on behind those doors. She knew he would distract her, and he did not disappoint. It was more than that though. Being with Flynn reminded her that Wyatt was not the only man in the world who could care for her. She didn't want to jump into a relationship with him or anything, but she found solace in the realization that he had warm feelings toward her. The exact nature of those feelings were a mystery, but she knew he felt some sort of affection for her.

Just a couple weeks ago, when she had spent that first night in his bed, accidentally succumbing to the effects of the vodka they had shared, he had even made a joke about having sex with him. "You were a gentle and responsive lover", he had teased, before laughing and assuring her nothing happened. She had felt relief in the moment, and a touch of some other emotion she didn't want to explore. But the very fact that he had even suggested the idea, even comically, made her abundantly aware that his regard for her was probably more than platonic. He was attracted to her; it was as plain as the grin splitting his face and the easy manner with which he flirted with her. And yet, she felt completely safe with him. There was no pressure, no advances, no expectations, no possessiveness from him. It was a stark contrast to Wyatt's behavior of late, for which she was exceedingly grateful.

If she was honest with herself, she was attracted to him too. Really, who wouldn't be attracted to a man like him? He couldn't be more physically appealing if he tried. Add to that a voice and accent that she could quite comfortably listen to all day, every day; a sense of humor that could coax a smile from her even in her darkest moods; and an intellect that challenged her on so many levels. The struggles of their past seemed so long ago – the memories of her animosity toward him had faded away to nothing in the wake of the comfort and support she experienced with him now.

This was who he truly was, she realized. This kind and compassionate man – who had almost been lost beneath the pain of his family's murder and the quest for vengeance against Rittenhouse – was the real him. This one, who smiled and teased and made her coffee and rubbed her head and let her fall asleep on him, was genuine. Oh, he wasn't perfect. He still had his faults, but so did she – so did everyone – and right now, she had a difficult time bringing any of them to mind.

She stole another glance at his sleeping face, her eyes once more lingering on that thick swath of hair brushing the bottoms of his eyebrows. He needed a haircut again – it grew so fast. She hadn't realized she was leaning toward him until her left hand was forced to support her weight. Her legs were still crossing his, but her right leg was barely touching his as she rotated onto her hip. Hesitantly, she reached for his hair, just barely fingering the underside of his bangs, brushing them back from his eyelids. When she drew back, her left hand slid forward and she placed her weight on her elbow instead, bringing her hand up to rest her chin on.

She felt a little creepy just watching him sleep like this, but something told her he wouldn't really mind. If he woke up at this exact moment, he would probably just smirk and say something to the effect of, "Like what you see?" Mmhmm. That's exactly what he would say, the thought making a smile tug up one side of her mouth. That was Flynn for you, though. He was confident and aware of his good looks without being truly conceited about it. Still, he knew how to dress in ways that were flattering…not that much was unflattering on him.

Her hand slid off her chin and crept to the back of her head as she rested her cheek on the inside of her arm. " _What are you doing, Lucy?"_ she cautioned herself. She had already slept one night in his bed without him in it – she couldn't risk falling asleep in here again with him actually in the bed with her! But she didn't want to move. Fatigue was seeping into her bones and she was losing the argument with herself to get up and go back to the room that Rufus and Jiya were occupying. She sure as hell wasn't going to sleep another night on the couch.

He _had_ said she could stay as long as she wanted. She knew he wouldn't be mad at her for falling asleep with him. And it's not like it really meant anything – it was the same thing as falling asleep on him on the couch. Well, except, he had carried her back to her bed, not his that night. Still, he had been obviously happy when she had slept the first night in his room. And therein lay the problem – she didn't want to give him a false impression that she wanted something more from him that just friendship, yet _. "Yet?_ " Meaning perhaps one day she would want more? She examined that idea and turned it over and over, before finally deciding that, yes, perhaps one day she would want more. But for now, she was content with their arrangement. And their arrangement included an open invitation for her to come to his room "anytime". He had meant that, and reassured her of it again tonight without the barest hint that it came with strings attached.

Decision made, she let herself grow comfortable, sliding her legs off his to stretch out next to him on her side. She was still scooted further down the bed; her toes in line with his. His right arm was pillowed underneath his neck, but the top of her head was still underneath it. She didn't even mind that her face was so close to his armpit because his deodorant smelled absolutely amazing mingled with his own natural scent. She let her right arm fall to the bed between them, her forearm just barely brushing against his ribs. She liked the feeling of the subtle movement of his breathing against her skin, his warmth reaching through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Awareness of their proximity faded into comfortable acceptance as she slowly drifted off sleep. She didn't know if she would wake up before he did the next morning, and she really didn't care. It wouldn't be like the first time, where she had felt embarrassed and intrusive. She knew that she was welcome and that he was honorable. It might not be normal for most people, but they weren't most people. And she liked it that way

.

.

.

She discovered that he did snore, but only in the morning when the first rays of sun were beginning to shine in through his window. It was as if he was determined to stay asleep and not let the dawning of a new day interrupt his rest. Lucy had been awake for a few minutes, but she found herself wanting to linger here. She didn't know why, but she wanted to talk to him again before she left the room. Something about the idea of sneaking off without explanation made her feel like she was guilty of some wrong. She wanted to thank him again and to reassure herself that he was truly okay with her presence.

But when she attempted to wake him, she soon discovered he had not been exaggerating when he said that not much could wake him up against his will. Scooting up a little further on the bed, she whispered his name a little louder. Nothing.

"Gar," she spoke, her pitch rising to a normal speaking level.

Still nothing. She prodded his arm gently to no avail. She pressed on his side with enough force to rock his body slightly. He didn't react. Finally, she reached up to his face and patted at his cheek. She snatched her hand away when he stopped snoring and stirred. A deep groan reverberated from his throat as he turned toward her. But he didn't open his eyes. Instead, he completely rolled over onto his stomach, his left arm flopping over her chest and shoulders. His abrupt movement had pushed her onto her back and she found herself lying next to him, rather incapacitated, her head resting on the corner of his pillow.  
His face was turned toward her with his nose almost in her hair, and his left hand _was_ in her hair. The right arm that had been tucked beneath his neck was now on top of his pillow, reaching over her head toward the wall. His knee was slightly bent and resting against her shin. Her heart was racing, and she briefly wondered if he could feel it knocking against his arm, where it rested between her breasts. But he was still completely out, his breathing slow and steady in her ear. What was she going to do now? Her plan for how this morning would go had completely changed. Now she definitely did _not_ want him to wake up to find her like this – even though it was him who had quite unconsciously put them in this position.

And for all that, she found herself enjoying the moment, despite her concerns for how he might interpret this. Even though he hadn't put his arms around her intentionally, it felt so good to be lying next to him like this, cocooned in his warm embrace. She felt safe and secure and cherished – feelings she had last experienced in Wyatt's arms before that had been snatched from her. She knew that this was just a pleasant fiction; that she was just trying to recapture those sensations. Or was she? She decided not to overanalyze the situation and once again decided to indulge her heart instead of her head. She would wait until she was sure he was totally asleep before trying to wiggle out of his arms…even though she was fairly certain that he was fully unconscious. She would just close her eyes for a few moments while she waited…

…had she fallen back asleep? She never fell asleep once awake. But the sun had definitely reached quite a bit further into the room. Gar's breath was still slow and relaxed - he slept on. Just as well. With a bit of effort, she managed to lift his arm enough to slip out from under it. Maneuvering up and off the bed while having to climb over him was difficult, but miraculously she was able to do so gracefully and without incident. Tiptoeing to the door, she cracked it open and glanced down the hall to make sure the coast was clear. Throwing one last glance over her shoulder at the man still stubbornly clinging to sleep at 9:24AM, she smiled and left his room.

* * *

As soon as he heard the door latch click into place, Garcia took the opportunity to re-position his right arm where it had fallen asleep above his head. Taking a long, deep breath, he inhaled the scent of Lucy's shampoo still clinging to his pillow. He shouldn't have done it. He knew that. She was still healing and wasn't ready to move on yet. But she had stayed there all night in his bed again, with him in it. And she must not have felt guilty about it, because she had chosen to wake him up instead of sneaking off in embarrassment. He had really woken up when she had pushed against his side hard enough to move him. He had intended to see how far she would go to wake him up, but when he felt her hand against his cheek, he gave into the impulse to wrap himself around her. He shouldn't have. It was selfish, and dishonest to let her think that he was still asleep.

He had been thinking of what to say to her by way of apology when he felt her whole body relax beside him. Her breathing slowed beneath the weight of his arm and her head had tipped slightly toward him so that his nose was brushing the soft waves of her hair. She was enjoying this, he realized with a sense of wonder. She was comfortable and content to let him hold her. Maybe it was just the feeling of it and not so much that it was _him_ holding her. Maybe she was imagining it was Wyatt holding her. The thought made his stomach turn. But he would be lying if he hadn't briefly thought about the last time he had shared a bed with a woman – Lorena. But his thoughts had only touched on those memories before he had returned to the present and the woman in his arms. Regardless of the why, she _had_ been content in his embrace, and so, he had let her stay there. He would feign sleep until she decided she was ready to leave.

He hadn't really been surprised when, after dozing off again for the longest two hours of his life, she had elected to slip away without another attempt to wake him up. He was rather grateful for the decision, as he had been unsuccessful in keeping his thoughts completely…innocent. But the smell of her, the warmth from her body, the curve of her hip against his waist, her breasts pressed to his arm, had been a little too much for him to manage relaxing back into sleep with her. He wanted her. He wanted her badly. But he was determined that if that dream was ever to become true, it would be on her terms and in her time. He wasn't going to do anything to pressure her. She was worth waiting for.

And that was the moment in which Garcia Flynn finally admitted to himself that it wasn't just admiration, attraction, affection, companionship, or desire that drew him to Lucy Preston…it was love. Not just the infatuated state of being "in love", though that was also there – but a deep, abiding, love that would stay with him all the days of his life.


End file.
